


Horse to Water

by artesiaminor



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Dedue Molinaro-centric, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Felix Hugo Fraldarius Being an Asshole, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Post-War, Rebuilding, Restoration of Duscur (Fire Emblem), Slow Burn, Sylvain Jose Gautier Being An Idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26775844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artesiaminor/pseuds/artesiaminor
Summary: Dedue has left his position as Dimitri's retainer and aide in order to rebuild Duscur. Standing in the meager rebuild, he can see that he has a long way to go before Duscur is anything more than a memory of death.But a visit from Sylvain starts to set things in motion. And he keeps coming back, again, and again, and again.
Relationships: (background), Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	Horse to Water

Sylvain in the meager rebuilds of Duscur is like a rose blooming in a vegetable garden: Pleasant, but out of place.

Dedue doesn’t know why he’s here, but it’s a comfort to see him alive and well enough. Sylvain trots in on his horse Elincia slow, cautious, making sure the stares by the Duscurians are at least that of allowance before progressing forward. Probably something he picked up from trying to create peace treaties with Sreng. A good lesson, in Dedue’s limited opinion.

At first, Dedue thinks the visit must be on official business of the Kingdom, but Sylvain is not wearing much in armor. This is the foolish behavior Dedue was hoping Sylvain would have learned to cease, for though he has no danger here, his travels could not have been perfectly safe; something he notes to bring up to him later. More importantly, however, is Sylvain is not wearing any regalia of the kingdom. He avoids flaunting his crest, Dedue knows, but to have absolutely no signage is telling. This is a personal visit of some sort.

Dedue is near the back of the settlement, trying to figure out the drainage system for the village. They’ve been having trouble routing water, it flooded the home of Telana and Iryo. He needs to fix it before it rains again, which if Vinya is correct, will be soon.

The appropriate thing to do would be to go and greet him, and a few years ago he would not have hesitated to do so. But he is trying to follow the advice from his Highness and Felix of all people: let the rules be a guide and not an oath, sometimes it is okay to not always be poised. So Dedue hangs back, curious to see how Sylvain does among his people.

Everyone catches notice of him. It’s the fiery hair. The pale skin. The way the smile, though Dedue knows it to be fake, comes easy to his face to each passerby. The reverse of Duscurian’s features, with their reddish brown skin and pale hair, and a smile being hard work. He looks good, though. Better than he did in the war, though a little older. Despite being few physical indicators that time has passed since the end of the war — some new scars, his horse Elincia has white in her coat and is trotting a little slower, worry lines more settled onto Sylvain’s face — it’s clearest in the way Sylvain postures himself. His chin still tilts forward in that debonair confidence, but his shoulders aren’t as stiff, as though he’s outgrown the facade. Settled into his position as a soldier, as the Margrave Gautier. 

Finally one of the Duscurians approaches him. “State your purpose here,” Dedue overhears Herra say. 

It is a woman which puts Dedue on edge, but Sylvain’s response — though tone a bit more saccharine than Herra is probably used to — is polite. “Hello, there. My name is Sylvain Gautier,F —”

“Gautier,” she cuts him off from speaking further. Like most people, the people of Duscur know who Sylvain is, but Sylvain still introduces himself as though no one has ever heard of him unless he is trying to piss off some other noble. Dedue, when he allows himself to dwell on it, thinks Sylvain acts like no one has ever heard of him because he wishes no one had.

But, he tries not to dwell on things like that. Opinions of such nature do not matter, and he has better things he should be thinking about than Sylvain’s behavior. 

The conversation fades to that which is out of Dedue’s earshot, so he continues his work — or lack thereof until he can think of an actual solution — and waits for Sylvain to arrive. The settlement isn’t large, it will be shortly, and as Dedue checks over his shoulder for the tenth time he catches Sylvain’s gaze as he is led by Herra.

“Dedue!” Herra flinches at Sylvain’s voice, the volume of it boisterous and overly excited to see the likes of himself, Dedue thinks. Still, he feels fond. He gets up off of his knees and bows.

“Sylvain, it’s good to see you.”

His gaze casts over to where Dedue was kneeling, and he looks back to where he entered Duscur. “You knew I was here and you didn’t come to greet me?”

“Do not take it personally, I am happy to see you,” Dedue explains. The truth. It is the next bit that comes out of his throat a bit rough. “This project has me a bit preoccupied, however.”

Dedue likes to think he did pretty well with that half-truth, but he should have known Sylvain would catch it. Instead of looking stern or bothered, however, Sylvain’s got a wicked grin on his face and a glint to his eye. “Never knew you to tell a lie, Dedue.”

“It is not a lie.”

“It’s not the truth.” He wags his finger at Dedue and looks wry. “You were checking me out. Seeing how I fared.” Sylvain laces his hands and puts them behind his head, kicking at the dirt, “since when did you start scheming?”

Dedue stiffens and rises to his feet. “It was hardly what anyone could call a scheme.”

“Yeah, for most people, but for you I might as well be looking at Claude von Riegan. Has he been giving you lessons?”

Heat is rising to his face quickly and Dedue cannot bring himself to calm down, and being embarrassed by the blush which is only making it worse. “No, of course not.” Dedue doesn’t know why he answered, it was clearly a joke.

Sylvain relents, the laughter cut short. “Well, how did I do?” Sylvain asks, raising his arms out as though finishing a performance.

This time Dedue smiles. He claps a hand on Sylvain’s shoulder. “You did well, my friend.”

Sylvain takes the opening to pull Dedue into a hug, heavy handed but heartfelt, it’s unusual that Dedue receives a hug that is so strong. “I’m glad. We’ll see if you think I’m doing so well by tonight,” he jokes giving a wink. Letting go with a slap on the back, Sylvain pulls away but keeps his arm slung around Dedue’s shoulders.

Sylvain’s gaze travels the grounds, but Sylvain does not look dismayed by the draft of Duscur before him. “It looks great here, by the way. You’re further along than I expected.”

“It helps that His Highness keeps sending supplies and assistance though I tell him he should not preoccupy himself with such things.”

“That sounds like our majesty,” Sylvain says fondly. “Some things don’t change, do they? Glad to hear that you two have kept up with each other despite this newfound distance.”

Dedue’s smile fades, but he nods. It has been going better than Dedue feared.

After the war he remained as His Highness’ retainer. Insisted upon doing so. When they started to make preparations for the rebuilding of Duscur, Dedue would leave for short periods at a time, sometimes with His Highness or Felix alongside him, but he always came back to the Fhirdiad keep to report and continue his duties on behalf of the kingdom.

But after a while, coming back when there was so much left undone here felt wrong. And in the palace he realized how he was not… tailored to such a position. Not that he couldn’t learn, but the longer he did it for, the more he found himself feeling unfulfilled. Dimitri being king brought a shift he had not accounted for, and he realized he did not feel like he belonged; not because he was a man from Duscur, but because he was out of touch with such duties of royalty. Even worse, he often found himself being assisted by the Shield of Faerghus, whose relationship with His Highness — though Dedue found on occasion was still far too callous — was better, blossoming even. In Felix, Dimitri was in good hands. Dedue was no longer necessary.

Dimitri was right that this, Duscur, was his passion. It took a bit of convincing to stray from His Highness’ side, and he still wonders if it was a good decision, but so far… so far things have been okay.

Dedue blinks at Sylvain, who he realizes has been watching him this whole time with careful eyes. When Dedue nods curtly, Sylvain look is soft, gazing at the project Dedue’s working on. “Show me what you’re working on.”

How could Dedue forget? There were two things that could capture Sylvain’s undivided attention: a beautiful person, and a puzzle. The way Sylvain looks at the groundwork now, he is clearly swept in, his fingers already tapping on his chin to provide potential solutions.

Though he is a guest and he should try to divert Sylvain’s attention elsewhere, Dedue could use the help, and Sylvain likely would not let him get away with that anyway. “Our drain system is not working well…”

____

Sylvain’s a mess.

This is entirely Dedue’s fault. He is a guest, a visitor here to the Duscur work in progress, and yet Dedue had put him to work. His intention was to only indulge Sylvain with the problem solving and Dedue would fix it later, but Sylvain had insisted, which Dedue had not realized this before but when Sylvain insisted upon something it was hard to argue. What started as Sylvain drawing out a trench system that would allow for more overflow of water being guided away from the homes turned into the two of them, and a few other volunteers, digging ditches and installing bedrock.

Dedue is also dirty, but he has managed to be cleaner than Sylvain, and either way this is his job. He should not have let Sylvain assist.

Sylvain spears the ground with his shovel, a mirror image to the war and his lance after a long battle or day of travel. He’s breathing heavy, sweat soaking the nape of his neck and ruining his shirt. Telana walks by, providing a canteen to the workers shoveling rock, and she passes one to Sylvain who responds with a pleased grin and a word of thanks. Dedue does the same.

The perk of Sylvain’s insistence, however, is his actions have quickly gained him favor. Many of the Duscurians who were initially skeptical of him have warmed up, and are willing to converse with him. Telana has offered him a rag, and Sylvain and Jude talked for about an hour about weapons maintenance. Felix never gained such comfortability, and he has been to Duscur a few times now on business. Even His Highness struggles, but Dedue affords that to him also being king, of which few are comfortable conversing with no matter how friendly he is.

Sylvain takes the cap off of the canteen provided to him and drinks, head thrown back and open mouthed, water occasionally pouring out of his lips and down his neck. He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing, the sheen of sweat and water glistening. He wipes his mouth with a dirtied sleeve, red earth a smear across his face, and gives a broad grin. “You work every visitor to the bone, or am I special?”

Dedue bows in apology. “I am truly sorry. It was not my intention to make you work like this. Your day has been filled with traveling and I should —”

“Hey, it was a joke! Stop with the, the,” Sylvain steps forward and taps on Dedue’s shoulders, gesturing him to stand upright. “Stop that. You know, you never need to apologize to me right? It’s not a problem, I’m happy to do it.”

“But clearly you had some reason to come all the way to Duscur,” Dedue says. “This is a long way for you to travel and I have been distracting you. You haven’t yet told me why you’re here.”

“Can’t I just want to check in with an old friend?”

Dedue’s eyebrows furrow together. “That seems highly impractical.”

“Don’t claim to be practical, thankfully. I’d never see you if I was.”

At that it occurs to Dedue that it has been a long time since he’s Sylvain. Since he’s seen many of his former classmates, his former comrades, his friends other than His Highness and Felix, and even them it has been a while. He considers this, and his heart sinks into his stomach. He folds his hands together and looks down. “I apologize.” This time, Dedue does not bow, but he also does not let Sylvain interrupt. “You are correct. It had not occurred to me that I had been letting so much time go by without seeing you, without seeing any of you. It is not that I do not wish to, but I — there is no excuse. We spent so much time in the war together, those bonds should not be so easily replaced with work.”

“It’s important work.”

“You are important people to me. You matter as well, I must be more attentive.”

Sylvain crosses his arms and regards Dedue, a stern expression on his face. “But we’re not what’s in need right now,” he says. Sylvain steps forward forward and lays his palms on Dedue’s shoulders, which immediately straighten at the touch. “You went far and above the call of duty for us as far as I’m concerned.”

“I did nothing more than anyone else.”

Sylvain raises a finger up. “Not true. You’ve given your life up for us, for our king, sacrificed everything more than once. Now it’s our job to come to you. You have nothing to apologize for.”

This is not enough for Dedue to shed his guilt. “I should have written.”

At that, a grin splits across Sylvain’s face. “Still as stalwart as ever.” Sylvain laughs, the shake of his shoulders reverberating onto the bridge of his arms and onto Dedue’s shoulders as well, making a mirror of quiet laughter. “Fine. You’re right, you are an ass and should have written more. Satisfied?”

Dedue is pretty sure no one has ever called him an ass before. He’s been thrown many insults, from monster to freak to slave, but no one has ever called him an ass.

He smiles. “Yes.”

“Alright.” Sylvain pushes off of him. “All can be forgiven, however, if you can find me a place to bathe, some food, and a place to crash for the night. And honestly, if you can only provide the bath, I’ll still forgive you.”

“No need. I’m happy to provide all three.”

Sylvain laces his fingers and plants them behind his head. “Ah, you’re the best, Dedue. The best in all of Fódlan.”

“That is not true,” Dedue states.

Sylvain shakes his head and hits Dedue’s arm with a light punch. “Debatable.”

____

Sylvain never philanders. At least, not in front of Dedue. In fact, he is more of an exemplary guest than Dedue has ever witnessed.

Sylvain takes the time to clean up all of the tools and lay out the last of the corrective remedies that should get them by if it rains tonight. He returns the canteens to their owners and thanks those for the loan. He and Dedue get cleaned up in one of the baths that they have constructed, and when Dedue apologizes for the cold water and Sylvain in turn heats it up with his reason magic and tells Dedue to let anyone know that if they need hot water he’s happy to provide it. When it comes to cooking, he assists Dedue in the kitchens making food for everyone, and though he is not as skilled as Ashe or Annette, he is a perfect kitchen hand.

“You are doing too much,” Dedue at one point tells him, while seasoning the deer that was caught by Herra hunting that day.

Sylvain shakes his head, not even looking up from the potato he’s peeling. “It’s the least I can do.”

Nothing about Sylvain’s behavior has been the least he could do. He has been putting a massive amount of effort, hasn’t stopped since entering Duscur. There hasn’t even been a moment of hesitancy, and no one ever asks. He just does. Even at protest of others, the inclination to help rolls off of him, is as natural as his breathing or his flirtatious tone with some of the objectively more attractive and youthful inhabitants of Duscur.

Not that Sylvain was unhelpful before. In fact, the more Dedue thinks on Sylvain’s behavior, the more Dedue can recall instances back at the Academy where he was just as useful, just as willing. Assisting Annette with her studies, weeding with Ashe, going through Bernadetta’s novels, letting Felix beat him to near-death in the training grounds, critiquing art with Ignatz, helping His Highness come out of his shell. Only now it is stripped of all the pretenses and rumors and reputation that he had in school. Many of Sylvain’s actions back at Garreg Mach had been less than savory, and in sum left a bad taste in many’s mouths both literally and metaphorically.

Without any of that weighing him down, there is no reason to second guess anything he does. He is helpful, and it does not feel like a guise.

“Like what you see?” Sylvain asks, then. He glances up from underneath his bangs and has a small, but wry, smile on his face. He waggles his eyebrows, and Dedue can see that it is just an afterthought. Wanting a reaction from Dedue and nothing more.

Dedue goes back to his seasoning, but he peeks at Sylvain from his periphery every so often after that.

They eat with the rest of the Duscurians, though they arrive to the tables late. The fire is churning low, but it provides a soft glow to the night, and everyone is in a comfortable mood. It’s more lively than usual, Sylvain’s arrival brightening up their space. It seems he’s been officially welcomed, and many sit down for a few moments to converse with him.

“You are well-liked,” Dedue whispers in-between conversation.

Sylvain chokes on his drink. For a moment, he looks truly frightened, as though someone told him that there was a knife at his back. He resets himself before Dedue can think to remark on it, however, instead belting out, “Ha! I’ve never been well-liked in my life.”

Dedue frowns, but says nothing more on the matter.

—-

The accommodations for Sylvain are meager, and many offer up their homes instead, but Sylvain refuses them all.

“You remember when we were soldiers, right? This is far more comfortable than I’m used to on most of my travels.” Sylvain pats the cot, softened with hay, and flops onto it as though to prove nothing is wrong. “And even when we did have a nice place to sleep, I rarely stayed there.”

It’s the first mention Sylvain has made to his prior habits of sleeping around, and yet the thoughts that accompany his chatter of such follow with ease: _Because you were with the innkeeper, or their daughter, or their son, or on the ground outside because he tried to_ , Dedue’s mind supplies.

And he immediately feels guilty.

Sylvain has been nothing but kind, and there is no reason for Dedue to even be bothered by such a thing. It may be the truth, but they are all filled with unpleasant truths of their past, and Sylvain does not deserve to have his past actions used against him at this time.

“If you are certain. If you visit again, we’ll be sure to have something better.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s a shelter, it’s got blankets, a bed, and it’s safe. What more could I ask for?”

“You are the Margrave Gautier,” Vinya says from behind Dedue. “If you wish it, you can stay in my home —”

Sylvain waves his hand to dismiss the comment. “I am much more comfortable here than taking up space in any of your homes. Unless you would like someone to warm your bed?”

Vinya blushes and scoffs.“I am married!”

“The more the merrier,” Sylvain says, but laughs right after, playing it off as a joke. Vinya places her hands on her hips, and Dedue notices the grin on her face. An expression that has been rare during their rebuild that he has seen multiple times in just one day since Sylvain’s arrival.

“A little tease, aren’t you? I’ll have to tell my husband that, he’ll get a good laugh. The Margrave Gautier has propositioned me! Propositioned _us_!” she laughs as though it is impossible, a joke based on such a falsehood there’s no other conclusion but for it to be humorous. She has no idea that there was a time when it was a much more likely to be fact than fiction. Perhaps still is. Dedue cannot tell.

Sylvain winks and Vinya guffaws, but when Sylvain’s gaze lands on Dedue for a moment he sees something else in his eyes. Dedue cannot pin it, but he stiffens and bows.

“We’ll leave you to get some rest. You’ve had a long day.”

“A good one, though,” Sylvain says.

Dedue nods. “A good one, yes.” He places his hand on the doorknob of this shifty shack. “Goodnight, Sylvain.”

“Goodnight, Dedue.”

With that, he closes the door, and goes to get some rest himself.

—

Mist clouds the fields surrounding Duscur, and pale yellows and pinks paint the sky at dawn. When they first started, the early morning fog made Duscur look eerie, a ghost town, where all the blooming flowers were merely reminders that they bloomed from the death of his people. No longer. There is a renewed hope. The smell in the air is sweeter, less iron, less memories of blood. The wildflowers do not remind him of death, but of life and the animals that graze the grasses surrounding, and the sun gilds the rocks on the dirt path providing a warm glow to their refuge.

Dedue loves dawn. He is one of the first few awake, though most will be up shortly. Who he does not expect to see, however, is Sylvain.

Dedue recalls Sylvain being a late sleeper, with Felix waking him up with the threat of a sword to the stomach, cutting off his leg, or taking out an eye, so him being awake is new. What is not unfamiliar, however, is that he is tending to his horse.

The attire he chose to do so is a little less than conventional. It’s as though he woke up and barely got dressed, his pants loose fitting on his hips because there is no belt, his shirt is not buttoned, he shoved his feet into his shoes. However, Dedue also sees that there is also a packed bag in the corner, next to his armor. Preparing to leave already.

Sylvain starts at Dedue’s arrival, and he sways at the jump. Once over his initial panic, he nods and gives a tilt to his lips, but it doesn’t amount to much more than that.

“You took care of my Elincia,” Sylvain says. His voice is more vulnerable than Dedue remembers it being the entire time he’s been here, and Dedue sees why. Sylvain stands as though sleepless, head lolling when he surveys his horse, bending as though his neck lost its bones.

“Did you not sleep well?”

“No —” and before Dedue can apologize for his accommodations, Sylvain raises a hand up to stop him. “It’s not ‘cause of where. Just had a lot on my mind. Like Elincia here.” Sylvain is gentle with his horse, touching his fingers to the braids his people plaited into her mane. “I can’t believe I forgot to feed her last night, I woke up and realized that I just left her. How awful of me.” He takes some carrot slices out of his pocket and offers them to the horse’s teeth, slow, coaxing, and Elincia bows into the palm of his hand.

“You were preoccupied with helping our village, caring for Elincia in return is the least we can do,” Dedue says, borrowing Sylvain’s language, which makes his eyebrow rise. “And she is a hero of the war as well.”

“Her services were irreplaceable.” He runs a hand down her neck and continues to coo at her. “Weren’t they, sweetheart?”

“A horse worthy of her rider,” Dedue says.

Sylvain grins, air springs out of him as though to be a laugh, but it sounds painful. The creases around his eyes, the grit to his grin, the squint to the ground: he is not happy. It’s as though the words have seared him.

“It is too early for that, Dedue.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Forget it,” Sylvain says. He stops moving at that, and then everything about him softens. “It’s not important,” he tries again.

“Something is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong,” Sylvain says, and this time it comes with a genuine expression, though its tense with nerves. “Well, one thing. Sadly I’ve got to be going shortly, but I promise I was going to stay to say goodbye.”

At least he’s not fleeing in the middle of the night, however the sudden departure does flip something in him. And Dedue recalls, “you never told me why you’re here.”

Sylvain blinks. His eyebrows furrow, and he doesn’t even try to mask his confusion. “I’m pretty sure I did. Wanted to check in, see how the rebuild was going, see how you were. Sound familiar?”

“Was that really all?” Dedue can’t help but get the creeping suspicion that this has been more than just a friendly check in. That perhaps His Highness did have something to do with it, or maybe this has something to do with Sreng, or perhaps Sylvain is in some sort of trouble he needed to take a break from.

However, Dedue regrets voicing such doubt immediately. The look on Sylvain’s face sets Dedue on edge. Dedue is not the best at reading people, Sylvain one of the most challenging, but his time in Duscur has felt for the most part genuine save a few slips. He is starting to be able to tell the difference between his true expression and his well kept masks. So in the stable where Sylvain gives him a wide-eyed and almost amused mask to Dedue’s inquiry, Dedue can feel the emptiness of it in his chest.

“Any and all super secret reasons are going to stay with me for the time being, if that’s alright.” Sylvain says, a play at humor, but it sounds fake even to Dedue’s untrained ears.

And though Dedue would previously be more inclined to remark on it and ask him to speak plainly, he also recognizes a defense system when he sees one. Instead he gestures to the meager armor that Sylvain rode into town with. “That is unacceptable.”

Sylvain shifts at the change in subject. He looks over at the pile of cleaned armor, then glances back at Dedue and lets out a deep sigh. “My armor?”

“Yes. Your travels here from Gautier, or even from the palace, can be filled with thieves and other criminals, and there will be people who recognize you even without royal regalia or signals of nobility. You should be more careful, and this,” Dedue picks up a pauldron and is further irritated by how light it is, “is hardly any protection.”

A scoff, and he pulls the armor away from Dedue’s hand. “What are you talking about? It’s lightweight, good for travel.”

“It’s lightweight and good for travel for people like Felix, or Ashe, people who are quick and good at handling those in close combat. You, however, require more protection from anything that gets too close, as you’re most skilled with a mid-range to long-range weapon. If I could I would provide you with something better, but I’m afraid most of the village’s armor would not suit you and my own would be far too big.”

“I wouldn’t take your armor anyway.” Sylvain holds the pauldron in both of his hands and tosses it up a little only to catch it again. Far too light. “Wouldn’t you say that this is the armor of a guard of some small town general? Of someone who likely makes close to nothing?”

“Yes, that is exactly the —” Dedue blinks. “Oh. You are trying to pass off as a commoner, or a guard.”

“That was the idea.”

Dedue glances at his black mare, a beautiful horse, with a shiny coat and clear eyes, bred for fight and to carry someone who will be wearing a lot of armor. Then he glances at Sylvain’s hair, a color common among nobility, the only true commoner he’s ever seen have such a shade being Leonie, and even then there is something different. He grimaces. “Even if someone does not recognize you by your features, Elincia is far too noble a horse for you to be convincing.” He picks up another piece of armor and inspects it, the chest piece. “It’d be better to just portray yourself as you are, or of at least your station. You’ll be much more protected.”

“Mm, depends on the crowd,” is Sylvain’s response. He watches Sylvain trace the pauldron with his thumbs, a caring touch, though Dedue is not sure why. This does not seem to be armor anyone should have any sentimental value to, unless it was his first, which Dedue doubts. “You’re right. I’ll be careful, then.”

“You should be careful anyway,” Dedue says, “but I’m glad to hear it.”

Sylvain sets the pauldron down, and looks over all of Dedue, his eyes traveling slowly and scanning, unabashed. “Thank you, Dedue. For everything. It’s been great to see you, I’m glad you’re doing well. And that Duscur is already so far along.”

“You did more for me than I for you,” Dedue argues. “And I’m glad you came. I will make sure not as much time passes before I see you again.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

“No,” Dedue says sternly. “I mean it. I hope we have occasion to see each other again soon. I would like to hear about your progress with Sreng and as Margrave.”

“None of it is nearly as interesting as what you’ve got going on here,” Sylvain says. “But I look forward to it.” He reaches forward with a hand, to shake. Dedue firmly grasps it. “Soon,” Sylvain iterates.

“Soon.”

About to leave it at that, Dedue loosens his grip, but then Sylvain pulls him hard and hugs him tight. “You be careful too, ya know? You’ve got people depending on you.”

From the crook of Sylvain’s shoulder, Dedue nods. “I will.”

After that, Sylvain says goodbye to the few Duscurians who have woken up, and he leaves just as swift as he came.

The hollow feeling does not leave Dedue’s chest.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first long ish fic that I have actually planned. It's also a rarepair I found myself slowly coming to adore. 
> 
> The goal is to post a new chapter every two weeks (so the next post will be October 16th). However, schedule is subject to change (could be both sooner and later) -- if you want updates on schedule, you can follow me on my twitter: https://twitter.com/ArtesiaMinor


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